


From the Ash I Will Be Born Again

by FahcLove



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Agnes is a disaster bi, Burning, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Fire, First Kiss, I love Agnes, ep. 67
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 00:54:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21499171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FahcLove/pseuds/FahcLove
Summary: She’s always been Agnes. It was the name that Jude always said with a smile, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, even though she faced the world with a frown. It was the name the cute barista stumbled over, how she watched him mouth it silently to himself when she thought she wasn’t looking.The story of Agnes Montague, the most human monster.
Relationships: Agnes Montague/Jack Barnabas, Agnes Montague/Jude Perry
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	From the Ash I Will Be Born Again

**Author's Note:**

> I love Agnes so much, I wish she wasn't dead so I could hear her statement.

She’s always been Agnes. It was the name her mother whispered before she burned to ash. It was the name that was carried through the wind, the tone of disapproval when one of the adults learned she had burned through another member. It was the name that was whispered in prayer, calling for their god,  _ her _ god, to answer. It was the name that Jude always said with a smile, the corners of her mouth turning upwards, even though she faced the world with a frown. It was the name the cute barista stumbled over, how she watched him mouth it silently to himself when she thought she wasn’t looking. 

Agnes liked her name. She had more of an amicable feeling about it in all honesty, but it’s not like she was allowed to choose anything in her life. It makes sense that her name was one of them. 

She asked that barista boy -- the one that seemed infatuated with her on a level only Jude could compete with -- if he had a destiny the way she had one. How she was born of fire and made to go out taking the whole world with her. And when she wasn’t allowed to do that anymore, when she was forced, without any consent, to stay alive and burning but not exploding, never exploding, how she was now destined to fizzle out much in the same way her mother had. Remembered only in name. 

She remembered her mother. It was strange, she wasn’t even a full minute old before her mother had burned away, no human could keep their memories of being a minute old. But she wasn’t human, was she? She was sentient flame, the flame that burns through everything it touches, the flame that is so dim it cannot be used even as a reading lamp, more likely to burn the book than illuminate it. So she remembered her mother, a woman named Eileen who was so dedicated to the cult Agnes called home that she willingly gave her life to it. She was the first voice Agnes heard, the first human she met, the first human she killed, and she was not forgotten. 

He did not have a destiny. The barista. She asked him and he said no, and she felt something raw and sorrowful open in her chest. She did not love him but something in her wanted to, wanted to love something the same way she hated everything. She wanted to love him and be human and not have a destiny. To walk down to the beach and into the water and have the chance to drown, to be swallowed by the waves. She wanted to drink the coffee he always brought her, to taste it even once. She wanted to be human. But that was impossible. She was not human. When she walked down to the ocean and touched the waves it bubbled and boiled and evaporated. When she held the coffee it sizzled and burned and gave the cute boy who tried so hard to please her first degree burns. 

She listened to Jude talk about her girlfriend. She had one, before she joined the cult. Her name was Gretchen and Jude loved her until one day she didn’t. But Agnes didn’t want to hear about that part. She wanted to hear about how Jude fell in love, how they met, why they decided to live together, the smell of her hair, the taste of her lips. And Jude, sweet, passionate, violent, burning Jude, told her everything. Gretchen had dark skin, like Ronald, one of the first children at The Spider’s House on Hilltop Road that she had saved. But, unlike Ronald’s coarse black hair, Jude said Gretchen’s was bleached and dyed orange. Like a flower, Agnes thought, and when she told Jude, Jude nodded. A beautiful flower. Agnes wondered if she could dye her hair. If she could bring herself to walk to the salon, pick a color and then sit for hours as the stylist picked through all of her hair, all without burning them. It wasn’t possible.

Agnes asked Jude to describe what it was like to be in love. And Jude had looked off into the distance and got a faraway look in her eye, a look Agnes had not seen on her before. She said being in love was a lot like being burned. It filled her completely and left her starving for more. Every time she saw Gretchen, she felt made new again. 

Agnes looked at the boy nervously walking beside her, and she didn’t feel anything new. Just the same faint simmering and the same sadness that had wormed its way into her. 

That night, she went back to her room and she cried, hot bubbling tears streaming down her face and hissing as they hit the wooden floor and evaporated into the air. 

Jude said Gretchen woke her every morning with a kiss. That they would kiss each other goodbye before going to work. That when Jude left her for the cult, for The Desolation, for Agnes, Gretchen didn’t cry, didn’t protest, just kissed her once before letting her go. She touched her lips when she said that, as if feeling the kiss anew once again. 

Agnes asked if she could kiss anyone. Jude laughed, a short barking sound that Agnes knew meant she was surprised. She said they could kiss if she really wanted. She didn’t look her in the eyes, but her mouth was turned upward in a twisted sneer. Agnes didn’t know what to say at first. She didn’t think anything would happen if she kissed Jude. Jude was Jude, not the barista who stared at her. Jude never gave her any soft looks, never reached out a hand but pulled it back, never said her name like it was something new and wonderful. But Jude was staring just behind her, and had that smile on her face and she was waiting. So Agnes leaned in and Jude leaned in and Agnes put her hand on Jude’s cheek. 

And they kissed. 

Jude’s face where Agnes touched it, and her lips that Agnes kissed were melted, dripping like candle wax. But she was smiling wider than Agnes has ever seen. 

Agnes on the other hand, was torn. It was very nice to kiss Jude, her lips were soft and hard at the same time, and it was nice to have someone so close to her. But she felt her hand and lips heat and burn, feeling Jude’s face liquify and melt under her skin. It wasn’t a new feeling, Agnes has burned many, many people before, including her fair share of cult members. But she didn’t like the way it felt. It felt hurtful, damaging, more than taking a life felt. 

She didn’t want Jack to feel like that. 

But it’s not like she had a choice, in the end. 

She knew she was going to die. She knew days, weeks, months in advance, knowing in such a way she almost thought The Eye That Sees had somehow told her, but she knew it wasn’t possible. Her being tied to The Archivist had never given her any special abilities, other than the fact that she is no longer able to fulfill the one purpose she was made for. 

She felt The Archivist tie herself to her. She felt The Spider wrap around her with their silky thread, felt the spider web pattern being burned into her right palm. She had never been burnt before. It was a strange experience, but one that was overshadowed by the sudden emotion that came with being turned slightly human. She felt happiness, joy, love, excitement, sadness, helplessness, depression, anxiety, and worst of all, fear. Even before Arthur or Diego or Jude had even fully understood what had happened, she knew she would never be able to complete the ritual. She knew she had failed, and she was now full of emotions that she should not have. She was something that had one purpose, was made to fulfill that one purpose, and she now could never complete it, no matter how hard she tried. 

So, as much as it hurt to die, she knew it was coming. She went on a date with Jack, the barista, that day, because as much as she did not love the other man, he was normal and he was human, something she was dearly missing. So she was walking with Jack and listening to him ramble on and on and on about his favorite thrift store in Soho, when she felt it. She felt herself start to die, the tree she implanted in the ground at Hill Top Road finally destroyed. The spider web on her hand started to sting, but she couldn’t even bring herself to be mad at The Spider. It was her time. 

Jack helped her back to the apartment she had been staying in with Jude, and wasn’t surprised to see the rest of her cult, her family, there waiting for her. She told Jack goodbye and turned to leave, to let him free from the orbit she had made him circle for the past few months, from the strange dance they had played because she just wanted to feel something; when he said her name.

“Agnes,” he said, and he said it so differently than he had ever said it before, like he was speaking her name into existence, like he was no longer scared or nervous or anxious, but proud. 

“Agnes,” he said and she turned to look at him and saw him for what he really was, and in that moment, if she had had more time, or been a little more human, she would’ve loved him. 

“Agnes,” he said and the world seemed to stop and the pain of her life ending seemed to cease and he continued to speak, “Can I kiss you?”

She didn’t even think about it before she put her hands on his face and leaned in. She didn’t even notice his skin burn and blister under her palms, on her lips. What she did notice was that this was the nicest kiss she’s ever had. 

She hurt him, she knew, and she felt sad because as he crumpled to the floor, his face was almost unrecognizable. She cried for him, a single boiling tear hitting his hand as she watched his eyes slide shut. She cried for herself, as the pain he had pushed away with his voice, with his eyes, with his lips, all came rushing back tenfold and she almost collapsed. And then she did, falling into Jude’s arms, and felt them bubble and melt back into dripping wax as she burned with all the fire that had been inside of her. 

The mark connecting her to The Archivist burned, and very distantly, she hoped the mysterious Archivist whom she knew only in name felt some of the pain that Agnes was feeling. It’s what she deserved, since she’s the one that caused this to happen. 

But that wasn’t true, was it?

It was The Web that started this, the spiders and their invisible threads that Agnes can only burn so fast before they are spun anew. So, as Agnes sunk to the floor the same way her Jack did a few moments before, she wished for the pain she was feeling to be inflicted on no one but herself. 

And then Agnes burned away and died, remembered only in name and memory and the horrifying scars burned into Jack Barnabas’s face, and the pale scar burned into Gertrude Robinson’s right palm.

**Author's Note:**

> I made a Spotify playlist for her, which you can listen to [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1hGxlVVFSxMPHEaptmHNhP). 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at [fahclove](https://fahclove.tumblr.com/).
> 
> (I imagine Agnes sounds like Dodie Clark and since we will never hear her voice I say its canon)


End file.
